I think Seto's relationship with Gozaburo Kaiba is the most complex, but I think Noa's is the most . . . I hesitate to say interesting, but I think there's more to unpack, somehow. It's not so much that there's more to it, it's just that what is there takes longer to unravel.

Which I suppose is one definition of complexity, but it makes sense in my head.

I don't know. Sometimes I just say shit.

Mokuba's relationship with Gozaburo Kaiba is dead simple, though.

He hates that motherfucker.


.


"Have you ever been to the Great Plains?" Ryo asked, apropos of nothing, one day. Noa tilted his head like a curious bird. "It's just . . . you mentioned going to Lake Tahoe before. I guess I wondered if you ever went further east, past the mountains. You know?"

"I don't think so," Noa said slowly. "I think Hahaue wanted to show me all the important landmarks in this country, not to mention the rest of the world, but Chichiue had very little tolerance for places that he thought of as . . . well. Pointless. You know, places like farmland, flatlands, that kind of thing. Chichiue had no understanding of what could possibly be important enough for us to look upon it. I think, if he'd been able to, he would have sold off a good eighty percent of this nation."

"Your father didn't understand the need for farmland?" Ryo asked incredulously. "How much of a big business cliché was he, exactly?"

Noa laughed as he shrugged dramatically. "Trust me, I know. He had no time or tolerance for anything that would influence or affect the lower or middle classes. We're a global world now. Food can come from anywhere. What difference does it make?"

Ryo studied Noa's face for a while, a long while, then shook his head and sighed. "I have been intimidated by your father before, but I believe this might be the first time I've ever been disappointed in him."

Noa was nodding. "I mean, what can I say? We all have our blind spots. Chichiue was a brilliant man at anything he decided to learn. He was dedicated; he had conviction; he was a force of nature. But never let anyone tell you that he was a peerless genius. He wasn't. Chichiue was a specialist. A very narrow specialist." Noa ran his hands through his hair. "Chichiue knew how to kill people, but he hadn't the faintest idea how to keep them alive."

Ryo took some time to think, then he said: "If you could talk to him again, what do you think you would say to him?"

Noa frowned, his brow furrowed, and he took a much longer time considering an answer than Ryou had in asking the question. Ryo wondered if maybe he'd made a mistake; perhaps this was the precise wrong thing to ask, and maybe it would ruin Noa's mood for the rest of the day. But then Noa looked back up at him, locked eyes with him, and there was victory gleaming in his eyes.

"I would tell him that his legacy is dead." Noa puffed out his chest, pulled his shoulders back, probably without realizing it. "I learned more from Hahaue than I ever learned from you. I learned from Aniki everything that I didn't learn from her. Anything left, I learned from Mokuba. Everything you tried to pound into my head is dead, dying, or too general to count as yours. Even I, your firstborn son, the one person over every other who should have belonged to you, doesn't. In two decades, there won't be a single person who thinks of you when they hear our name."

Ryo smiled. "Good for you," he said softly.

"Good for me," Noa said, then he flashed a grin.

". . . Do you still love him?" Ryo asked, tentatively.

"I do," Noa answered immediately, with confidence. "I absolutely do. I always will. But this isn't about that. If I had the chance to talk to Chichiue again, I would need him to know that everything he gave his life for, everything he sacrificed so much, so many people, for . . . it all amounted to nothing. If he's ever born to a new body, if reincarnation exists and he ever gets another chance, I want him to know not to pull this shit again."